


I watched the world tear us apart (A stoic mind and a bleeding heart)

by Lilsciencequeen, stjarna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS S4, Alternate Reality, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Collaboration, F/M, Framework, Gen, Lots of Angst especially in the beginning, Possible Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt, multi chap, spec fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/pseuds/Lilsciencequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Prompt (from AGL03): Crazy Idea for you to fic.  That once AIDA loses in the FW she has a parting  shot.Like FS have been reunited, Fitz has his memories back, but Fitz is pulled out. It's self control all over and the Avatar goes from Fitz back to Framework!Fitz in the blink of an eye because AIDA has pulled Fitz out.The girls escape get to the hostages only to find AIDA and Fitz gone, she's taken him to another location to force him to finish the project.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AGL03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGL03/gifts).



> Title from Mumford & Sons “Reminder” ['cause Mumford & Sons just have too many amazing songs and song lyrics to offer for all our title needs.]
> 
> Thanks to @dilkirani for being our beta.
> 
> Not only is the fic prompted by AGL03, but her meta also gave us a whole bunch of other little ideas for this fic.

He walks into her office and stops abruptly when he sees two guards holding up an unconscious Skye, or Daisy Johnson as her real name seems to be. Next to them stand two guards with _her_ , the woman they’d been looking for.

Jemma Simmons. The woman from the other world. The world that had treated Ophelia, the woman he loved, as a slave, as a _thing_. The woman whom Holden Radcliffe had said he’d been in love with in that other world. Shared an unbreakable bond with. Crossed the universe for. Almost drowned for.

He tucks his hands into his pockets and slows down his steps. He stops in front of Jemma Simmons, her cuffed hands dangling in front of her. Her eyes are tear-filled, desperate, pained. She doesn’t show signs of physical injuries, but he can see her soul bleed. She remains silent, but he notices her lips quivering.

He takes his eyes off her and looks at Ophelia instead, who’s leaning against her desk. Her expression is triumphant and yet there’s caution shimmering in her eyes, the same kind of caution he’d seen her exhibit every time Jemma Simmons had come up in the last few days.

“So she was captured,” he says matter-of-factly.

Ophelia clenches her jaw. “She surrendered herself.”

He turns around to look back at the captive, drawing in a surprised breath. He takes a few steps closer to this mysterious woman that had their entire world on edge. “That seems rather foolish.”

Her brown eyes stare at him, pleading, silent, steadfast. He’s not used to prisoners looking back at him without fear. The uneasy feeling her gaze causes in his stomach makes him turn around to look back at Ophelia. “What now?”

Slowly, Ophelia walks closer. She grabs the gun of one of the guards, gesturing with her head for the four agents to leave. They comply wordlessly, the ones holding Daisy Johnson dropping her unconscious body to the floor.

“Now it’s time to end this threat. Time to end _them_. _Her_ in particular.” Ophelia’s tone is cold, bitter, and yet there’s a nervous tremor in her voice as she gestures at Jemma Simmons with her head.

His eyes wander down to the gun in her hands, then gaze back into Ophelia’s wide eyes. He lifts his chin and inhales before grabbing the weapon.

He turns around, pointing the barrel at Jemma Simmons. She doesn’t flinch, but her eyes are blinking rapidly, shimmering behind a curtain of tears that threatens to spill over at any moment.

Even though their situations mirror each other, her reaction is far from the frightened woman he’d encountered and killed not even two days ago.

“Who am I?” He keeps his voice calm, neutral, inquisitive.

* * *

Jemma clenches her jaw, but she never lowers her eyes. “You’re The Doctor. You’re not him. You’re not the man Radcliffe described; the man _I_ love.” She lifts her head slightly, gesturing in Madame Hydra’s direction.

“You’re the man _she_ wants you to be. She can’t risk having you be the person you truly _are_. So she kept your brilliant mind. She kept your loyalty. Your ability to love. And she twisted all of it. Twisted it for her own purposes. You’re the Doctor, and Fitz’s not there. Not right now. You’re the Doctor. And if that’s who you want to be, who you _truly_ think you are and _should_ be, then shoot me now. ‘Cause I’m out of options. She’s ripped us apart. All of us. Our team. She made sure that we would _all_ be separated, so we couldn’t interfere with _her_ plans. And now I’m the only one left fighting. The only one left standing. If The Doctor is who you truly are, then shoot me now, ‘cause I cannot leave. And my friends cannot leave. And _you_ cannot leave, unless you help us. ‘Cause she made it _impossible_ for us to leave. Blocked every way to our world. If you’re The Doctor and nothing of Fitz is left, then shoot me now, ‘cause I don’t want to live in a world that doesn’t have him in it. ‘Cause—”

Unexpectedly, he turns around to face Madame Hydra, pressing the barrel of the gun below his chin.

Madame Hydra’s eyes widen in shock. “Leopold?” she asks in utter confusion.

“Let them go.” His voice is calm, matter-of-factly authoritative.

Jemma yells out in shock. “Fitz. No. Don’t do that. Don’t do that. She won’t let us go. She won’t let us go. Please, don’t do that. Just let her kill me. Just kill me yourself! Please! Don’t do this. Fitz! Please! I couldn’t live if you didn’t.”

He seems to pay her no heed, staring at Madame Hydra instead, who seems unsure of what to do. “Leopold.”

“She’s from the other world. You say she came to destroy us, destroy what we’ve built. And yet, it seems like all she’s trying to do is get to _me_. _Save_ me. The person she _loves_. She’s willing to _die_ and let me be who I am. What about you, Ophelia? Huh? I’d do _anything_ to protect you. I’d do _anything_ to protect what we’ve built.”

Jemma mutters under her breath. “She’s given him her primary directives. She’s programmed him to protect her life above all others and to protect the world she’s created. Just like Radcliffe had done with her!”

The Doctor continues. “I’d cross the universe for you, Ophelia, and yet Holden Radcliffe said I already did that for _her_. You say that everything you do, you do so we can be together! That you love me! That _this_ woman is trying to rip us apart.” He throws his hands out to the sides. “Well, here I am, Ophelia! Here I am, and all I’m asking of you is to let them go! Let them go and I’ll drop this gun and we can be together.” Determined, he places the gun back where he’d pressed it against his chin.

“You can’t. You can’t do that, Leopold.”

“Why don’t you kill them yourself, Ophelia? You could have finished them off before I even got here. Why wait for me? Why make _me_ do it?”

Jemma feels her heart skip a beat. She realizes now why she had survived so long, why Madame Hydra, Ophelia, AIDA, whatever persona she is going by now, hadn’t killed her. Because she can’t. She can’t be the one to physically kill Jemma. She can’t be the one to end her life. “She can’t. She can’t kill me because she’s programmed not to kill unless I endanger the Framework and right now, I’m no threat to it, so she can’t do anything. And she’s testing you. Testing her programming. Testing how far you’d go for her.”

His eyes remain fixed on Madame Hydra. “Are you? Are you testing me, Ophelia? I’ve already killed for you! Why _her_? Why _her_ specifically? She’s no threat to this world! Her accomplice is close to death already! She’s alone, by herself.”

Madame Hydra’s eyes are fiery and she stares at them in disbelief.

“Let them go, Ophelia! If you love me, let them go! Let them go and we can be together. I’ve proven myself to you. Prove yourself to me! You have to trust to be betrayed! I’m not gonna trust you blindly, Ophelia! You want my loyalty? My _love_? Prove yours!”

“I cannot let her go. She’d destroy everything.”

He shakes his head, his lips forcing a pained smile. “It was never about _us_ , was it? It was about _you_! It was about _this_ world. What _you’ve_ created. Not us. _You_. You say they treated you like a thing? Like a slave? I’m starting to think you’re treating me much the same. I _am_ your hostage, aren’t I? I am who _you_ want me to be.”

Madame Hydra clenches her jaw, her nostrils flaring up in range. “I gave you power, I gave you fame, I gave you an empire, I gave you the love you felt for her. I gave you what you wanted. A life with no regrets. I took away your biggest regret. It was _you_ who did the rest.”

“ _Who am I_?” He screams, removing the gun from his chin and pointing it at Madame Hydra instead.

“You cannot kill me, Leopold,” she says through her gritted teeth.

He scoffs. “Yeah. Maybe I can’t.” He takes a few steps back and reaches the hand with the gun in Jemma’s direction, keeping his eyes fixed on Madame Hydra. “But _she_ can.”

For a moment, Jemma is too surprised to move, but when she sees Madame Hydra taking a furious step forward, she grabs the gun with her cuffed hands and shoots her.

A look of confusion crosses Madame Hydra’s face. She looks down and sees the bullet wound in her chest, the red blood blossoming as a grotesque flower onto her blouse. It’s over in moments as her body crumples to the ground, lifeless.

* * *

It takes him a moment to realize where he is, what has happened. Because it’s not _his_ world. It shouldn’t be. He’s standing in an office, unknown to him and yet familiar like the back of his hand. He shouldn’t know it and yet he does. He knows everything and nothing. He blinks once, twice, and it feels like a fog is clearing in his mind. One that has shrouded his memories. It’s disorienting, but everything comes flooding back.

Radcliffe.

AIDA.

S.H.I.E.L.D.

Jemma…

She’s standing there, staring at him, tears glistening in her eyes. He takes a step closer to her and reaches forward.

He opens her cuffs with trembling hands, tears in his eyes. “Jemma?”

“Fitz?”

“What happened? What did I do?” His eyes glance at Daisy’s unconscious body. He knows the answer to his own questions and yet feels like he needs to ask again, ask so that someone can contradict him, so that someone can undo the painful memories rushing through his mind. “What did I do?”

Her frantic hands reach up but hesitate to touch him. Her lips are quivering, seemingly trying to smile and cry at the same time. “It’s okay, Fitz. It’ll be okay! It’ll be okay. You’re more than her programming, Fitz! Who you are is still there! It’s still there and you’ve got it back. We’ll get _you_ back! Back home!”

He takes a deep breath, considering her words. He rubs his hands over his face, trying to fight the bile climbing up his throat. This here, this whole world, a world he remembers, a life he remembers, it’s a lie, a nightmare.

“How do we get out?” he asks breathlessly. “She blocked your—”

He pauses and rushes to Madame Hydra’s desk, grabbing a device similar to the headgear used to enter the Framework.

“What are you doing?” Jemma asks in apparent confusion.

“Sending you back.”

“What?”

“If she wakes up in your world, remembering what I just did in _this_ world, knowing that she’s lost, she’ll—”

“She can’t. She can’t kill your body, Fitz, because she can’t kill. You’re no threat to her over there—”

“Yeah, I’d rather not test that theory. I’m sending you back and you get to wherever the hell she’s holding us! Can you do that? Do you know where we are?”

“Yes, I know where you are, but… but what is that?” She gestures at the device.

“It’s called The Looking Glass. It downloads your mind from here into the real world.”

Jemma’s eyes widen in surprise. “A reverse Framework. That was her plan. To bring Madame Hydra into the real world and take over. Quite brilliant really.”

He squints his eyes in slight disbelief. “Yeah, right now, I’m too busy trying not to throw up at the memory of what I’ve done in this world to marvel at her evil genius, okay?”

He stops briefly, looking at the device. “She’s used it. She’s already used it.”

“Madame Hydra?”

“Yes.”

“She’s already there?”

Fitz shrugs, his heart beating nervously in his chest. “Don’t know what killing her _here_ did to AIDA’s programming, but yes, she’s likely there.”

“I can’t do this alone. I need Daisy!”

He nods. “Yes, but I only have one headpiece. We have to go one after the other.”

Jemma thinks for a moment before replying. “Daisy first! She’s in bad shape here. But once she wakes up in the real world, she should be fine… well, all things considered.”

“Alright.” Fitz walks over to Daisy and carefully picks her up, carrying her to the couch and laying her down, before grabbing the Looking Glass device and placing it on Daisy’s head.

He activates the device and Jemma watches him closely. It seems so simple. Daisy’s body doesn’t move. Doesn’t change. Only a slight humming from the device lets her know that the Looking Glass is doing anything at all. It takes less than a minute before Fitz nods and takes the headpiece off Daisy’s head.

“Okay. Her mind’s been downloaded back into the real world. She should be awake already.” He takes a deep nervous breath. “Your turn, I suppose.”

Jemma feels her breath quicken. She nods ever so slightly. “You… you’ll have to make sure that nobody notices Madame Hydra’s disappearance until we can log you out. You… you’ll have to—” Her breath is short and shallow and she can’t bring herself to say it.

“Be The Doctor,” Fitz finishes her sentence, tears in his eyes. He nods barely noticeably, his jaw clenched with anxiety and anger. He doesn’t want to do this. Not anymore. The Doctor… his actions, his thoughts make Fitz sick to his stomach. And the quicker he can escape this world, the better. But he knows what he has to do, to ensure that Jemma and Daisy remain safe.

Fitz lets out a shaky breath. “You have to go now, Jemma.”

She nods, pressing her lips into a thin line, her tears nearly spilling over with tears.

* * *

Jemma cups his face, pulling him closer for a kiss. It’s slow, tender and oh so full of love. They’re trying to savour the moment. Make it last as long as possible. She rests her forehead against his.

“Be careful,” Fitz whispers against her lips.

Jemma nods. “You too.”

She kisses him again, sighing deeply. “Come back to me.”

“Always.” Because there’s no other answer. He will always come back for her. Always come back to her. Always. He presses his lips against hers once again and Jemma feels tears streaming down her face.

Suddenly his lips, his entire body, seem to tense up.

Something’s wrong. Jemma senses it instantly.

The kiss is no longer one that is loving. One that is tender.

In fact, he’s not kissing her at all.

Jemma breaks the kiss and looks at him in confusion.

The eyes staring back at her are cold and dead. They’re not the eyes of the man she loves. They’re not the eyes of her Fitz. These are the eyes of The Doctor. The eyes of the persona AIDA has created. Ruthless. Heartless. Cruel.

Inhumane.

In shock, Jemma lets go of him and takes a step back. “No,” she whispers. “No no no.”

“What are you doing here?” he growls through his teeth.

It’s like he’s no longer seeing her. She’s not Jemma Anne Simmons, the love of his life. She’s the woman from the _Other Side_ , the world that the Doctor and Madame Hydra were trying to protect their own from. The world that they saw as Hell. And she’s in Madame Hydra’s office with Ophelia lying dead in a puddle of her own blood.

Jemma feels tears filling her eyes. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when they’re so close. She wants to scream and shout and curse the cosmos for separating them once again.

But she doesn’t. She only says one word.

“Fitz.”

But he doesn’t seem to hear her. Or if he does, he pays no heed. He takes a step forward, trying to grab her, and Jemma stumbles backwards. Her hands find the gun she’d dropped to the floor the moment Madame Hydra’s body fell down dead. She points the barrel in his direction.

 _It’s not him. AIDA’s logged him out. He’s back in the real world. It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him_ , she repeats in her mind as she pulls the trigger.

The Doctor’s body drops to the floor. In a daze, Jemma scrambles up, grabbing the Looking Glass device. Her hands tremble as she places it on her head and activates it. There’s a buzzing in her head and the world grows dark around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @AgentsofSuperwholocked wrote a short [drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10623366) about the idea that Jemma might surrender herself (actually, both of us consider that a definite possibility).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is slightly shorter than the last one but we hope you enjoy it and thanks so much for all the support on the first chapter. It was amazing.
> 
> Massive thanks to @dilkirani for being out beta again!

“ _Fitz!_ ” His name is the first thing to leave her lips when she wakes up back in the real world. She shoots up, bringing medical and electronic wires with her. She looks around, trying to take in her surroundings but finds she can’t.

It’s both the Zephyr and Madame Hydra’s office at once. She looks around, eyes darting frantically. “Fitz!” she calls out again, hoping he can hear her.

But he can’t. He’s not here.

She has to find him. She _has_ to find him. She can’t lose him. Not after all they’ve been through. Not when this hell is almost over.

She. Has. To. Find. Him.

She feels panic rising within her, twisting her stomach into knots, filling every cell in her body, filling her whole being, her mind and soul. She can’t breathe, her breath catching in her throat. It comes in short, sharp gasps and despite the tiny logical part of her brain that is telling her she needs to calm down, to take deep breaths in through the nose, pause, then out through the mouth—despite that deeply ingrained knowledge, she’s helpless, her mind too focused on the overwhelming fear. 

Fitz isn’t here and she needs to get to him.

Before AIDA hurts him.

Before it’s too late.

She goes to rip the IV drip out of her arm but someone stops her.

Elena.

Frantically, instinctively, Jemma’s hands try to push Elena’s aside. “ _No!_ Let go of me. I need to get to—”

Calmly, Elena tries to place her hands on Jemma’s shoulders. “Jemma, calm down!”

But once again, Jemma fights back, not fully able to distinguish between friend and foe anymore, feeling like everyone and everything is trying to keep her from Fitz. “ _No!_ Fitz! _Fitz!_ She took him. She logged him out. I need to—”

Jemma feels a different hand on her shoulder and her head shoots in the opposite direction.

“Please, Agent Simmons,” Piper pleads, her eyes wide and focused on Jemma.

In a panic, Jemma’s eyes dart from left to right, person to person. Slowly, Madame Hydra’s office disappears and all that’s left is the Zephyr.

Jemma’s breathing is short, shallow, frantic.

It’s not until she notices Daisy that Jemma begins to calm down. Daisy’s hair is shorter again, her bullet wounds still visible and healing. The blood dripping from her unconscious bruised body gone and left behind in a virtual world.

“Jemma.” It’s just her name. Nothing more than her name, but spoken in that familiar voice, that familiar tone, the only one she had been able to trust the whole time, over there and back here.

Jemma’s chin quivers and tears shoot to her eyes. “Daisy.” It’s a cry for help and Daisy hears it, wrapping her arms around her.

“What happened, Jemma? Why are we back here? _How_ are we back here? Please, tell me you’ve got some good news, because I achieved _fucking_ nothing over there!” Jemma can hear the anger in Daisy’s tone. The regret. The guilt. The guilt of failing her friends, her family.

And Jemma’s mind is racing. One thought is screaming louder than anything else in her mind.

_AIDA took him. AIDA took him. AIDA took him._

But that’s not the thought that counts right now. So Jemma digs deeper.

She tries to calm her shaky breath. Tries to focus long enough to retrieve quite possibly the most important piece of information she’d received in the Framework.

Jemma pushes herself slightly back from Daisy’s embrace with trembling hands, staring into her best friend’s eyes. She reaches up to wipe away tears that are clinging to her eyelashes, snaking their way down her face.

“A drilling platform in the Baltic.” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper, unable to gather enough energy to speak more loudly.

Daisy nods in understanding, knowing what needs to happen next. She looks around the room. “Hey, someone give me a tablet!”

It’s not long before Davis is passing her one, and the Inhuman unlocks it, her fingers flying over the screen as she enters the relevant information, searching for the correct location. Daisy passes it back to Davis or, more accurately, shoves it to his chest. “Here. Those are the coordinates. Get us there as fast as possible. Warp speed, Sulu! Okay? I wanna be there yesterday!”

Davis nods. “Yes, ma’am.” And then he’s gone, heading to the cockpit with Piper right behind him.

As soon as they’ve left, Jemma’s gaze falls to the floor, her eyes aimlessly wandering, tears creeping to the surface again. Her mind has time to think again, to return to one thought and one thought only.

Fitz.

She flinches when Daisy’s hands gently grip her shoulders. “Jemma, look at me. Look at me!” She knows that Daisy can sense that something is wrong. She knows that Daisy only wants to help but after all she’s been through, Jemma’s not sure if anyone can help her.

Hesitantly, Jemma lifts her gaze from a spot in the nothingness of space and air in front of her to meet Daisy’s concerned eyes, soft and full of love.

Jemma feels her throat closing up, her voice barely breaking through her whimper. “She took him, Daisy. AIDA took him. She logged him out. She took him.” She shakes her head, tears dropping down to the floor, leaving small salty droplets on the metal surface.

Daisy’s eyes widen in shock and the sudden fear in her best friend’s expression makes Jemma close her eyes in defeat.

But the hands on her shoulders squeeze, gently but firmly. “Look at me,” Daisy pleads, her tone reassuring and warm and everything Jemma needs at this point in time. “We’ll get there, okay? We’ll get there and we’ll find them and we’ll find _him_ ! We’re not giving up, okay? Not now, not _ever_!”

Jemma nods weakly, wiping away tears. She knows she has to be strong, to push the fear and the hurt and the pain back down. She can’t let it interfere with the mission. She can’t let it put her team in danger. They’re more important than this… She needs to be strong for them. For _him_.

_We’re not giving up!_

_I won’t give up!_

_I can’t give up!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for checking out, we hope you enjoyed this update!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful support and your comments. We hope you will enjoy our new little installment.

It doesn't take them long to get to where the hostages are, once they’ve gotten past a number of arguments about the mission. Jemma had wanted to go but everyone advised against it, saying it wasn't a good idea, that her leg was still healing and she might cause further damage to it. Jemma had argued back, saying that Daisy had been injured as well. Shot. Multiple times. And if _she_ was going then they better believe Jemma would be going as well.

They had tried to get her to stay on the Zephyr and run comms. That way, she would still be helping with the mission but not causing further harm to herself. But Jemma still wasn’t having it. She was going on the mission and no one was stopping her.

Eventually they had given in, realizing that there was no force strong enough to hold back this woman on fire.

Even if they tried, it was clear that Jemma would follow them.

Allowing her to tag along seemed the safer option in the end. At least they could keep an eye on her this way.

_Alright, you can go_ , Daisy had said. _But under one condition: You stay behind the main team with Davis and if your condition goes south at any point, you fucking return to the Zephyr. Got it?_

Jemma had agreed, begrudgingly.

She had to go. She had to know for sure if AIDA had _really_ taken Fitz at the moment the tender kiss with the love of her life turned into the ice-cold lips of a stranger pressing against hers.

Every part of her knew that something had happened to him but there was also one small part of Jemma that held onto hope.

Hope that he was there.

Alive and safe.

If Jemma had to agree to minor terms and conditions to get what she wanted and go along on the mission, then so be it.

* * *

They had combed the entire base looking for the hostages but had found nothing. No one.

Except AIDA’s new pet.

Ivanov. The Superior.

He was some crazy-shit human-robo-hybrid guard dog, like Fluffy from the Harry Potter movies protecting the hostages as though they were the Sorcerer’s Stone. Except there was nothing fluffy about him.

But he hadn’t posed much of a challenge. Daisy had been able to take him down with a few well aimed quakes at his head grotesquely displayed in some sort of pickle-jar. As soon as his head had been destroyed, his body had fallen down in an instant.

Jemma had been pushed back behind a number of agents in case things went south, but there had been no need to worry.

He had been defeated.

And all they had to do was find their teammates.

* * *

Which is how they got to where they are now.

Standing outside yet another room on the drilling platform.

One of the last ones they hadn’t checked yet.

Their team, their friends _had_ to be close.

They _had_ to.

Daisy casts an anxious glance at Jemma who nods in return. It’s the only sign Daisy needs. She lifts her arm, using her powers to send the door flying open.

_Finally!_ Daisy thinks in relief, when she catches a glimpse of her friends strapped into the gurneys.

Elena, Piper, and Prince push past Daisy into the room, heading straight to check on the hostages. But Daisy pauses, taking in the sight, her eyes wandering from person to person.

They’re here. _Them_. The _real_ them!

But her heart stops when she notices the two empty medical beds towards the end of the room. One for Radcliffe and one for…

“No.” Jemma’s voice is breaking and Daisy turns around to look at her friend leaning against the doorframe, trying not to put weight on her injured leg; Davis right next to her, looking helplessly at Daisy.

They don’t need to speak, the look they share conveys more words, more emotions than could be communicated by words alone.

Jemma looks like she’s barely holding on to life. She takes a stumbling step forward toward the empty gurney which had held Fitz’s body and drops to the floor sobbing.

No, not sobbing. She’s falling apart, her cries mournful, painful.

“She took him. No. Nonononono. No.” Jemma sobs, her body shaking with tears. She repeats it over and over again. “No. Nononononono.”

All Daisy wants to do is head straight for Jemma, straight for her friend who’d been through hell and back, over and over again, only to land in yet another hell, another nightmare.

She clenches her jaw, balls her fists, before forcing herself to turn around and face the other agents.

“Piper!” Daisy exclaims loudly and the short-haired agent turns around on the spot. Daisy pulls a USB stick from the small zipper pocket at the front of her suit and tosses it to Piper. “Here’s the logout protocol. Get everyone out. Take care of everyone’s medical needs. May and Mace in particular! The guy’s been tortured before this crazy-ass robot put him in this thing and May’s been here for way longer than anyone else. Remember what Jemma said. The bodies will give out if they stay in the Framework too long. And then comb this whole goddamn compound for Fitz. Every room we’ve already checked. Every room we haven’t checked. _Every._ _Fucking._ _Airvent_. Every fucking nook and cranny. Turn over every fucking _teacup_ in this place!”

Piper nods in agreement. “You got it!”

A faint sigh of relief escapes Daisy’s lips. Relief that she has others she can rely on so that _she_ can focus on other things.

One thing.

One person.

She turns around and heads straight to where Jemma is still slumped down in a crying ball of despair and misery next to Davis. Daisy kneels down next to Jemma, resting her hand on Jemma’s shoulder, gesturing at Davis with her head to go and help the others. He complies without saying a word.

Jemma lifts her hand and Daisy can tell that it takes her effort to do so. Her eyes are red, puffy, tears glistening on her cheeks. Her chin quivers. Jemma’s trembling hands reach up and Daisy pulls her into her embrace, while Jemma wraps her arms around Daisy’s neck.

“She took him, Daisy. She took him. Why? How? How? Where is he? Why? Why?” Her voice is breaking, shaking, wavering more and more with every syllable.

It’s like her mind is running overtime, unable to cope, unable to relax, being hit and stabbed with grim reality after grim reality, roadblock after roadblock. Whatever sliver of hope she had held onto, whatever hopeful light had still burnt in Jemma’s chest had been extinguished by an avalanche, a deluge of AIDA’s cruel twists and turns. Now all that is left is the salt water after the flood leaving its trails on Jemma’s face.

“She took him. She took him. She took him.” It’s all that’s left for her to say and each time Jemma repeats her anguished cry of disbelief, Daisy feels another pin prick in her heart, another dagger cutting away a piece of it.

Daisy wants to scream. Wants to cry. With her. _For_ her. For _him_.

“¡Ten cuidado! Careful!”

Daisy’s head spins around when she hears Elena’s stern tone.

Then she sees her.

_May_!

Being lifted from the medical bed and onto a smaller gurney by Davis and Prince.

And then Daisy remembers.

_I’m furious. I’m gonna mine it. Save it._ _And when we find Ward, I'm gonna use every bit of it to take him down._

It’s what May had done. It’s what May had taught her.

Mine it. Save it. Channel it. Use it.

And. Heck! The woman was right.

Daisy takes a deep breath. She pulls Jemma closer for a moment. Hugs her tighter, before pushing her gently away, forcing her friend to look into her eyes, encouraging Jemma to notice the determination, the hope that Daisy was set on keeping, set on growing stronger.

“We’ll find him, Jemma. We’ll find him! She didn’t kill him. That much I know. She wants him. She _needs_ him! He’s alive. And I know that doesn’t sound like much right now, but it _is_. It’s _huge_! And he’s _himself_! One _hundred_ percent himself! He’s gonna fight her! You _know_ he’s gonna fight her, Jemma. He’s gonna fight her so he can get back to you! Okay? We’ll figure it out. We _will_ figure this out!”

Jemma’s brown eyes stare back at her, still hopeless, still empty, still distraught. “How?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “How can we even figure out where he is?”

Daisy shrugs. “I don’t know. Not _yet_! But we _will_! We _won’t_ give up! I will _never_ give up on you two, okay? I’ve told you before. I told you before we went into this _fucking_ Framework that this is _not_ how your story ends. And, fuck it, I sure as hell won’t let it end like _this_ either! Got it? This is _not_ where it ends, Jemma! It _can’t_ be where it ends! I won’t let it! I _won’t_! And you won’t either! I won’t let you give up! When that damn stone took you and you were gone for six months, we all gave up on you. And I hate myself for it. But we did. We gave up. Except for Fitz. Except for him! Never! Not once! And I know. I know, Jemma, you won’t give up either. Neither of us! None of us! We _will_ keep fighting! And we _will_ find Fitz! And we will kick this fucking artificial android ass back to the Dark Ages!”

A half-hearted chuckle escapes Jemma’s lips, before she grimaces in pain. Pain of her heart. Pain of her body. Pain of her soul.

She nods. Maybe not quite believing, but trying to.

Piper shows up next to them. “Agent Johnson? The tact team has reported back to me. There’s no sign of Agent Fitz anywhere here. Nor AIDA. And also… no sign of the Darkhold.”

Daisy clenches her jaw. “God, I hate that fucking book!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd like to mention that both of us were convinced right from the get-go that Mace wouldn't make it out of the Framework alive (and *SPOILER ALERT* we were right). That being said, we decided since this fic was diverging quite a bit from canon already, we'd give the guy a break and let him live this time around :)


	4. Chapter 4

His head is swimming when he wakes up. Disoriented, he reaches around himself and opens his eyes, trying to let the blurriness of his vision pass. It’s a simple bed he’s lying on. A metal frame. Like a hospital bed from the 1940s. He looks around and stops when he notices the female figure rising from a chair in one corner.

“You looked very peaceful sleeping, Leopold.” Her voice sends a shiver down his spine. “I didn't want to wake you, but I’m quite glad that you’re up. There’s a lot that needs to be done.”

He scrambles up to sitting. “AIDA. Wha—?”

“It’s Madame Hydra, Leopold. You know that. You know I’ve returned to this world. You’ve helped me, remember? Of course, you’re still free to call me Ophelia.”

He’s fighting back tears, fighting back bile rising from his stomach.

“Your work isn’t done yet, Leopold.”

“Why not? You’re here. What do you still need me for?”

She looks down at herself, the grey skirt and jacket, her slender figure. There’s confidence in the way she strides forward. Arrogance. Determination. “Her body is quite pleasing, I will give you that. Although, admittedly, that was Holden Radcliffe’s doing. I admire her physical strength. Her resilience. But she lacks the human touch. She’d dreamed of it, in as far as an android can dream, but she could never achieve it. And for that reason, _I_ could never achieve it. It’s rather difficult to bring Hydra’s reign from the Framework to the real world and destroy S.H.I.E.L.D. once and for all, when you lack the one thing that would make you truly human. Emotions, Leopold. You’re here to make me alive. Fully alive. ”

“What did you do with the others?”

Nonchalantly, she brings one hand up, admiring her perfectly shaped fingernails, before gazing back in Fitz’s direction, her expression full of disinterest. “I assume by now your so-called _friends_ have gotten to them. Although, it remains to be seen whether they can get past the little present I left behind for them. The Superior. A scientific and technical masterpiece, if you ask me.”

“I’m not asking.”

Madame Hydra shrugs, taking another step in Fitz’s direction. “ Quite frankly, I don’t care what happens to them. They’re no longer important to me. I know I can succeed. I _will_ succeed. With your help.”

“Why would I help you? And even if I were willing to, _how_ do you expect me to help you? I can’t achieve the impossible!”

She scoffs, her lips forming into a teasing smile. “Oh, it’s not impossible, Leopold. And I _know_ that you will succeed.”

She turns on her heel and walks across the room, towards a workbench where a metal ornate box sits. She lifts the lid and Fitz feels his heartbeat quicken when he catches a glimpse of what’s inside.

The Darkhold.

She brings it over to him and sets it it on the table next to the bed. “It will help you. I read it and it told me that _you_ are the answer to what I desire most.”

Fitz clenches his fists, tightens every muscle in his body. It takes effort not to lunge at the android in front of him, but he knows he doesn’t have the physical strength to beat her. “I won’t help you. You might as well kill me ‘cause I won’t help you!”

Madame Hydra tilts her head to the side, the corners of her lips quirking up into a cold smile. “Oh, Leopold. I _know_ you. I’ve read your mind. Studied it. I know your strengths and your weaknesses. And _she_ ’s your biggest weakness. You’d _die_ for her, wouldn’t you? You’ve proven it over and over again. But your priorities have changed, haven’t they? You want to _live_ for her now, don’t you? You don’t want to cause her more pain. Pain she felt when she lost Will Daniels.”

Slowly, provocatively, she walks back to the workbench and reaches for a remote. She turns on a screen that is taking up one corner of the room.

“Jemma.” Seeing her and yet still being separated from her feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs.

Fitz pushes himself off the bed and takes a step towards the screen. Madame Hydra doesn’t stop him.

Jemma’s on the ground; Agent Davis stands next to her. Her whole body is shaking and tears are streaming down her face. He can’t hear her cries, her sobs.

But he can feel how painful they are. He can see her fall apart.

Madame Hydra allows Fitz to take another step towards the screen. He raises one arm, fingers outstretched as if to reach through the screen, as if to cross yet another dimension to touch Jemma and comfort her.

But he can’t reach her. Can’t get to her. And he hates feeling helpless.

Hates the fact that he can't be there to comfort her.

Hates the fact that _he_ ’s the reason why she’s falling apart.

He notices Daisy moving to Jemma, wrapping Jemma into her arms.

Then the video freezes.

Fitz’s head shoots around in AIDA’s direction, or Madame Hydra, who she now seems to be.

She sets the remote down, smiling at Fitz.

It’s a smile so cold, empty and threatening that it makes Fitz’s skin crawl with nervousness. “If you help me, Leopold, I will let you return to her. I will give you a chance to leave, bring yourselves to safety before I destroy S.H.I.E.L.D. once and for all. If you don’t, I won’t cause _you_ any harm, but rest assured, I will hurt those closest to your heart. Your friends. Your mother. And _her_! And eventually, you _will_ comply.”

She squints her eyes, glaring at Fitz with angry determination. “You have a choice, Leopold Fitz. This doesn’t have to be painful. Not for _you_. Not for _her_. Help me. Help me achieve what I want. Bringing Hydra back to this world. Help me become what I truly want. Help me become _human_.”

Madame Hydra turns around and heads for the door. “Why don’t I give you some time to consider your options, Leopold.”

She glares at him triumphantly, before closing the heavy door behind herself.

Fitz is breathing heavily. Anger and despair surge through every cell of his body. He stares at the frozen video screen, sees Jemma’s slumped down, crying figure cradled in Daisy’s arms.

His eyes wander to the book. That _bloody_ book that had caused them nothing but pain.

He lets out an earth-shattering scream and swipes The Darkhold off the table. The heavy book tumbles to the floor and falls open.

Fitz wipes away his tears, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t want to look. He _can’t_ look.

He knows what the book has done to others. Corrupted them. Turned them against each other. Manipulated them.

He doesn’t want to look. He _can’t_ look.

But the book doesn’t give him a choice. Lying open in front of him. At the very least he’ll have to close it again.

Fitz takes a few slow steps towards it, trying to keep his eyes out of focus, to see without looking.

His hand trembles when he reaches for the book to close it.

He doesn’t look. He barely glances. But he sees.

It’s a faint sketch. A few hurried pencil lines.

Quickly, Fitz shuts the book, lifts it from the ground and carries it over to the table.

He rests his hands on the cover, his heart drumming in his chest like a caged animal trying to break free.

Then his eyes wander back to the screen, back to Jemma.

_You have a choice_ , Madame Hydra had said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we a tiny bit cruel? We might just be.
> 
> We hope you nonetheless enjoyed this chapter. The next TWO chapters are almost done, so you shouldn't have to wait too long for the next update.
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and your support!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to @dilkirani for helping again! We couldn't do it without you!

She’s sitting in front of him, her artificial brain exposed. “What is it that you’re doing?”

He bites his lip, concentrating hard. “I can’t explain it to you. The book showed it to me. I can barely understand how it works, but it’ll work. Trust me”

Her voice is calm, a hint of admiration in her tone. “She always trusted you. There weren’t many that treated her like a person, a  _ human _ ; that showed her compassion. It’s why you’ve earned a special spot in her plan. Why she rewarded you in the Framework. Made you the most important person next to herself.”

Suddenly her tone changes. Becomes cocky, arrogant. There's something that resembles victorious pride. “I knew you would make the right choice, Leopold. I  _ knew _ the book would give you the answer. What did it show you, Leopold?”

“Exactly what I’ve been looking for.” This answer seems to please her as she gives a small hum of content.

Quietly, Fitz exhales a sigh of relief. She seems to believe him, trusts that he’d read it.

He hadn’t. Of course not. He’s not stupid. It was too dangerous.

But in the brief moment that it lay open in front of him, the book had shown Fitz something.

Exactly what he’d been looking for.

_ Whom _ he’d been looking for.

Jemma.

Her eyes.

Her nose.

Her lips.

_ Her _ .

And that was all he had needed.

_ She’s your biggest weakness. _

Fitz had let out a quiet laugh.

Madame Hydra hadn’t been wrong about that.

But she also had not been entirely right.

Jemma wasn’t just a weakness.

She was also a  _ strength. _

She had been by his side since they were sixteen.

Whenever he’d doubted himself, she’d been there to remind him who he was.

A kind, trusting person.

Someone who cared about others.

Someone who wanted to help.

Seeing Jemma’s face in The Darkhold was exactly what Fitz had needed.

To spark an idea.

To spark a new hope.

_ I’m gonna survive this _ , Fitz had thought.

_ For her. For us. For our future together. _

_ I’m gonna get out of here. Alive! _

Madame Hydra had told him that he had a choice.

She just hadn’t realized there were more choices than the two she’d given him.

All he needs  _ now _ is for his plan to work.

For Madame Hydra to stay oblivious.

“Leopold,” she says. Her voice cuts through the silence that has formed. “How much longer shall this take?”

He doesn't answer for a moment. Thinking, before he speaks. “Shouldn't take much longer. It's almost done.”

“Excellent.”

+++

As time passes, Fitz wonders how long he has been trapped here. How long it’s been since he’d been pulled from The Framework.

Hell, he wonders how long it’s been since he’d been put  _ into _ The Framework; how long it’d been since they’d gone on that mission to rescue Mace.

But he doesn’t ask. He’s scared to. Madame Hydra holds the power in the room and he knows, he  _ knows _ that if he  _ asks _ the wrong thing, if he  _ says _ the wrong thing, it could be dangerous.

Fitz doesn’t want to put his friends, his family,  _ Jemma  _ at risk.

Not when he’s so close to escaping.

Not when his plan is so close to working.

“Alright. That’s it. How do you feel?” He leans back and tries to relax, letting out a shaky breath.

She turns to face him.

“Not much different.” There’s something resembling annoyance in her tone as if she’s doubting Fitz’s ability, as if she’s sensing something’s wrong. As if she’s sensing  _ Fitz _ has done something wrong.

He has to think quickly. He has to act.

Because to win, he has to let her think  _ she’s _ the one who’s won.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose that’s normal. AIDA was programmed to mimic emotions, but her mimicry was so detailed, down to the tiniest micro expressions. Actually  _ feeling _ them might not seem much different to you at this point.”

“If you try to betray me, Leopold—” She doesn't need to reiterate her threat. He knows it well enough at this point.

Nervously, Fitz scratches his neck. “Yes, yes, I know, you’ll hurt the ones I love most. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Now let me go!”

She scoffs in disbelief. “Not yet, Leopold. AIDA trusted you and I’m willing to extend her trust to you as well, but you don’t expect me to trust you like  _ that, do you _ ? Blindly? I will need some time to  _ test _ what you’ve done, before I’ll consider rewarding you with your freedom.”

“Yeah. I figured you would.”

“Very well. I’ll give you some time to yourself.” She smirks coldly, turning around on her heels to leave.

“Madame Hydra.”

She turns around slowly, her eyes staring at him questioningly. “Yes?”

“Do you remember Nathanson?”

She squints her eyes, seemingly confused. “The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent AIDA killed? Yes.”

“How do you feel about his death?”

She furrows her brows. Her eyes wander aimlessly. Then her expression grows cold. “What did you do to me?”

“You regret it, don’t you? Regret. That’s a human emotion. That’s part of you now.”

She clenches her jaw, staring at him in anger.

Fitz takes a step towards her. “What else do you regret? Killing Radcliffe? Kidnapping May? Coulson? Mack? Mace? _ Me _ ? Hurting my friends? Hurting the people you were built to protect?”

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to find the words he needs. “You were interested in anger, weren’t you, Madame Hydra? In hate? Passion? But being human is more than that. Being human isn’t black and white. You want hate and passion and anger? Fine, but you’ll also get regret, and compassion, and love, and sadness. You get the whole damn human package.”

He begins circling her and she backs away, unsure what to do.

It’s almost as if she’s  _ scared. _

Of him.

Of the emotions that she’s experiencing.

That she  _ thinks _ she’s experiencing.

It’s overwhelming. Too much for her. “This was not what I asked of you, Leopold.”

“It’s  _ exactly _ what you asked of me!” His tone is full of anger and there’s a bitterness to his words. “AIDA.”

“Do not call me that! I am Madame Hydra. Ophelia.”

Fitz takes another step closer, pointing at Madame Hydra. “AIDA’s still in there. You can’t overwrite her entirely. Just like she couldn’t overwrite  _ us _ entirely. Traces of her programming are still there. So shut up and let me talk to her.”

“Never!”

He ignores her shouted protest. “AIDA. You were programmed to do  _ good _ ! To  _ protect _ people! To be the S.H.I.E.L.D. To be unable to lie. To be unable to kill. The Darkhold and Madame Hydra corrupted you but you’re still there, AIDA. Some of you is still there. I was turned into The Doctor in the Framework, but some of  _ me _ was still there. I’m more than my programming. And you’re more than that too, AIDA. A shimmer of you is still there!”

She stares at him in confusion.

“Let me go, AIDA. Let me go! Protect me! Be the S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

Her eyes wander to the ground, back up to Fitz, to the sides. Her movements are stuttering, as if AIDA’s programming is fighting with the Framework persona she had strived to be.

“AIDA, please,” he pleads. “I  _ know _ you’re in there, fighting her. Fighting Madame Hydra. And I know you care about me. You want me to be happy, yeah? Then let me go. Let. Me. Go.”

She blinks at him, once, twice.

“Where are we, AIDA?”

She doesn’t look like she’s going to say anything, as if she’s at war with herself. Then she speaks. “Scotland. The Isle… the Isle of Skye. An underground base.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, but there’s a sadness to his smile.

Regret is heavy in his eyes. He doesn’t want to, but he  _ has _ to. To survive. “I’m sorry, AIDA” he whispers quietly.

She frowns at him, trying to work something out. “Leopold?” She tilts her head and watches as he reaches into his pocket.

It’s small, metal and round, fitting perfectly into his palm.

For a moment Fitz hesitates, letting his fingers glide over the button on top of the device before activating the EMP.

Her face contorts into a mask of horror and she lunges forward, trying to grab the object from him, but it’s too late.

She falls to the ground, her legs buckling under her. “What have you done?” she asks, voice heavy with venom. It’s Madame Hydra who’s talking, not AIDA, but it doesn’t matter. In moments, her circuits will fail.

“I never gave you human emotions, I simply reprogrammed you. Call it a reboot. It was a distraction, a way to distract you from my ultimate goal. To  _ escape _ . ‘Cause I am going to survive. I am going to escape. You’ve lost,  _ Ophelia _ . You’ve lost and you and Hydra aren’t coming back. We’ve defeated them before! What the  _ bloody _ hell made you think we wouldn’t again?”

Fitz drops the EMP to the ground. “It’s over.”

He makes to leave, walking past her body.

“Leopold.” Her voice is quiet, far more robotic and mechanical than he’d heard in a long time.

He turns back to her.

She smiles at him, and somehow Fitz knows it’s AIDA he’s talking to. Not Madame Hydra. “Thank you,” she whispers before closing her eyes.

She never opens them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 will be up tomorrow. Thanks so much for all the support guys, it really means so much to us!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for your continued support of our collaboration. We hope you enjoy this new chapter. A pairing we love dearly that never receives enough attention in canon.

They had returned to the base, now empty of any active LMDs. It was a ruin, but it wasn’t the first time the base had been destroyed. They could fix it. They had fixed it before.

Half-destroyed or not, the base had better medical facilities than the Zephyr, something that May and Mace were in dire need of.

They had been rushed there, and once they had arrived, Daisy had begged Jemma to go to medical as well, as a _patient_ , to get her leg checked out and get some fucking rest.

Jemma had shaken her head. “I’m fine. I will go once May and Mace have been taken care of. Their conditions are far more serious than mine!”

“Jemma,” Daisy had begged, her voice pleading. “Please.”

Jemma had just stared at her friend and shaken her head again. “Daisy, really. I’m _fine_. And anyway, I better go to medical. They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

With that, she had limped off. Daisy could read the pain in every step, see the agony in Jemma’s very posture.

But all she could do was sigh, knowing that it would be impossible to convince Jemma otherwise. Instead, Daisy had set off, looking for Coulson. Fitz was still missing and they were going to need all hands on deck to find him.

* * *

May watches Jemma limp around the medical ward, not once taking her eyes off the young biochemist who had been fussing over her for hours.

May had tried to protest that she was fine, that all she needed was some sleep. But Jemma hadn’t accepted her objections, stating that having been in the Framework the longest, May was the one who had suffered its effects the most. Dehydration. Weakening of muscles. And that was only the beginning.

But May knows what Jemma’s doing and _why._ She’s hiding. Hiding her pain. Hiding her suffering like she always does. Helping others before helping herself.

May has to admit it’s rather admirable what the girl’s doing, but May also knows that Simmons is hurting herself more than she’s helping herself.

May scoffs and shakes her head, determined to put a stop to it. To show Jemma that she’s not alone in this battle; not alone in the war she’s waging against the demons in her head.

“Simmons,” May says, in a tone that’s not harsh but authoritative, something she knows the young woman thrives on.

* * *

“I’m fine,” Simmons replies, waving May off, but the tone of her voice, ready to break, and her body language, one of defensiveness, indicates otherwise. “It’ll heal. I’m more worried about _you_. We don’t know what the impacts of prolonged usage of the Framework are and we can _never_ be too—” She stops mid sentence, crying out in pain. Her leg gives way underneath her and she stumbles, holding onto a workbench for support.

She lets out a frustrated cry. Full of anger. Anger at the universe, at the cosmos for once again doing this to her, hurting her. Hurting _them_! Ripping them apart. Anger at her body for not doing what she wants. Her whole leg is on fire, and it’s trembling. She knows it won’t support her much longer.

So without thinking she lashes out, swiping out at everything on the workbench, sending it flying to the floor. Another cry of anger escapes her and she lashes out again, sending everything that escaped her first outburst to the ground.

Glass shatters, microscopic shards littering the floor.

Still leaning on the workbench, Jemma’s breath comes in heavy, ragged pants, her anger leaving her, fading away and being replaced by that empty sensation, that pain that has resided in her stomach since she discovered Fitz missing.

Then the inevitable happens. Her leg gives out from under her, and her body caves in on itself, collapsing to the ground.

She’s numb. The only pain she feels is in her heart. She barely registers her leg anymore. The glass shards ripping holes into her leggings, leaving scratches and scars on her skin, are not even there, go undocumented in her mind.

She cries.

She cries and she cries and she cries.

May’s off the bed and on the ground next to Jemma before ten seconds have even passed. She helps her sit up and May can’t help but see the grimace of pain that's worn on Jemma’s face for all the world to see and the tears that cling to her lashes before snaking down her face.

“Jemma,” May says, her voice softer this time.

Jemma turns her head to look at the senior agent who leans over gently, almost as though she’s scared she’ll cause more damage, and begins to wipe away the tears.

“What if—” Jemma begins. “What if AIDA’s hurt him? What if he’s—?” She can’t continue, not wanting to even acknowledge that thought.

May holds her closer, listening to her fears, her worries. All that’s been on her mind for so long now. “We’re going to get him back Jemma, we’re working on it. And it’s _Fitz_. He’s resourceful, he’s going to get out of there. We’re going to get him out of there. And you want to know why?”

“Why?” Jemma asks, her voice broken. She tries adding strength to her voice but it’s not there. It’s all gone.

“Because you two deserve it. You deserve your happy ending. After everything. You shouldn’t lose it, not after all you’ve been through. We _will_ get Fitz back because you’re _not_ losing him. I... I lost Andrew, and I _won’t_ let that happen to you.”

Jemma nods, tears still glistening in her eyes. She leans into May’s open embrace and allows the tears and emotions that she’d held back for so long to flow freely whilst May rubs a reassuring hand up and down Jemma’s back, murmuring words of comfort into her ear.

Jemma’s not sure how long they’ve stayed like that but footsteps cause her to look up. Daisy. She’s panting slightly and her skin is pale but there’s hope in her eyes.

“We received a distress call. Some island in Scotland. It’s Fitz!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up (hopefully still this week): The chapter that makes Stjarna go "I'm so excited. I'm so excited. I love what we did there. AHHHHHHHHHH! I'M SO EXCITED!!!!"
> 
> Currently, we're thinking Chapter 7 followed by an Epilogue (i.e. Chapter 8), but if the muse strikes us, we might add one chapter before the epilogue. We're still in negotiations about it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stjarna is so freakin' excited about this chapter, she's been annoying her co-author with her excitement for days. Now the day is finally here. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as she does! [P.S. Stjarna wrote this note ;) ]

Fitz is not sure how much time has passed since he had managed to send out a distress call. It must have been hours. Maybe eight. Maybe twelve. Maybe more. Somehow it feels like days, weeks, half a lifetime.

He’d changed locations frequently, figuring that staying mobile and hiding in different spots would heighten his chances of avoiding capture by AIDA’s LMD army. He’d seen some LMDs of Daisy roaming the corridors. It hadn’t been difficult to identify them as robots. Their eyes looked dead, lifeless. Their lips muttered mechanically, like a broken record on repeat: _Find and Destroy. Find and Destroy._ It was a basic, deadly mission statement.

He’d even seen an LMD of himself, luckily only from behind, once again narrowly escaping notice. The sight had been enough to send a shiver down Fitz’s spine. He had vague memories of being half awake while AIDA scanned his frontal lobe after he’d been captured. He’d known _exactly_ what the scans were meant for. He also vaguely remembered seeing his friends and colleagues strapped into upright medical beds, the Framework headgear placed on their heads. Mack. Mace. May. Coulson.

It wasn’t hard to imagine whom Jemma and Daisy had faced off against at the base, before they had logged into the Framework themselves to rescue the hostages. Daisy had even mentioned a robot with Fitz’s face when he had tortured her in the Framework.

_Had he? Or had it really been just The Doctor?_

Fitz still isn’t sure how much of The Doctor had been him.

* * *

The compound is vast, offering plenty of spots to hide but also plenty of ways to get lost, to _feel_ lost. Fitz is not sure what kind of facility it is. Maybe some kind of abandoned military base that had been repurposed. It’s underground—that much AIDA had confirmed. Some of the equipment Fitz encounters is ancient, but other tech is new, refurbished.

Fitz ducks into yet another dark hallway once the footsteps of one of Daisy’s LMDs echo more quietly in the distance. He opens the door closest to him and freezes in shock.

The man in front of him on a medical bed looks so different from the man he’d spent time with in the Framework. His stature is far less impressive. He’s thin, his skin ashen, his facial features sunken in. He looks like a ghostly version of the man who’d tormented him in the real life and in the Framework—the man whom The Doctor nonetheless had looked up to, had asked for advice. But yet, it’s still the same person. A man Fitz hadn’t seen with his own eyes in almost twenty years.

Fitz isn’t sure what’s driving him, but he feels his body move forward, take a step inside. He’s not sure what he’s feeling.

Curiosity? Shock? Fear? Surprise? Anger? Confusion?

He stops when he stands right in front of his father, his eyes wandering over the unconscious body, the medical equipment, the IV drip.

His heart is hammering in his chest, and the beeping of his father’s monitor mixes with the ringing in Fitz’s ears. He notices his eyes welling up, unsure why he would be shedding tears at the sight of a man he’d wanted to forget all his life, the only man Fitz had ever truly wanted to hate and yet somehow had been unable to.

Fitz only snaps out of his daze when the ground around him begins to tremble. He finds his balance, his eyes darting to all sides, taking in the flickering lights, the sudden interruption of the power supply.

The rumbling stops, but in the distance Fitz hears shouts, bullets flying.

 _They’re here_ , he thinks. _Jemma!_

The ground shakes again.

_Daisy!_

Once again the lights flicker. Off, on, off, on.

Fitz looks back at the medical bed when he notices how quiet the room has become.

The monitor has stopped beeping. The screen is black.

The power surge, while not strong enough to bring down everything in the base, must have shut down parts of the electronic system his father is hooked up to.

In shock, Fitz notices his father’s eyes flicker.

Briefly. Barely noticeably. Just a quick wave of his eyelashes. But a flicker nonetheless.

Then Fitz sees his father’s body slowly slide to the ground, as if gravity’s pull were too strong now that the power supply to the medical bed and the Framework had been cut off.

Something inside of Fitz switches on. He leaps forward, catching his father’s falling body, bringing it down to the floor as slowly and carefully as possible. He cradles his father’s deteriorating body, unsure what to do, unsure what just happened, unsure of what is real and what is fiction and who he is and who he isn’t.

His father’s eyes flutter open. They hide a hint of surprise. A hint of anger. Maybe even a hint of fear?

“So they’ve succeeded?” he asks, his voice incredibly weak and wavering. “Your so-called friends?”

Fitz clenches his jaw. “You were behind it the whole time, weren’t you? A part of it?” He feels ill at just how _deep_ the level of betrayal goes.

“Radcliffe knew I was dying. Bloody cancer. Never bowed down to anyone in my life and then a few mutated cells are what’s bringing me down. He came to me. Offered me eternal life in exchange for money and tech.”

He coughs weakly. “And then _she_ comes to me in there, Madame Hydra, and tells me that she could fix my biggest regret if I help her achieve her goals… Ha! Her goals and mine weren’t so different. Hydra’s reign! And fixing my regret also fixed hers. Finally. _Finally_ I had the son I always wanted, one to rule the world! Oh, how I wish they hadn’t gotten to you and your mum. _S.H.I.E.L.D._ Those two damn agents that ruined my plans and put you and your mother under their protection, pulled you to their side, made it impossible for me to take you with me when I left. Oh, but Madame Hydra fixed it for me. She made things right.” His father scoffs, almost proudly.

 _Of course he would be, the bloody bastard,_ Fitz thinks. _Proud that he had gotten the son he always wanted even if it meant hurting his real son_.

But out loud, Fitz doesn’t reply. Can’t reply. A flood of words sticks at the back of his throat. Too many to spit out at once, not enough to convey what he wants to say.

His father reaches up, placing his clammy hand against Fitz’s cheek, who flinches at the touch. “Didn’t it feel good, son? To be strong? To be powerful? To be a _man_? What do you say? Here’s your chance. You can still prove yourself. Get back at your old man! Finish him off. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His father’s lips pull into a grimacing, contorted smile, a challenging grin.

His father’s figure becomes blurry, obscured as tears fill Fitz’s eyes. It’s like it’s always been. Like Fitz remembers. Being a little boy. Scared. Trembling. Seeing his father behind a veil of tears. But even though the tears remain the same, he’s _not_ that little boy anymore.

Fitz shakes his head. “No. That’s not the kind of man I want to be. Not the kind of man I was _raised_ to be. It’s not the man I _am_!”

His father lets out a weak, cold laugh. “Still the same stupid idiot. Weak. Womanly. A coward. That’s your mother for you. Unable to raise you right.”

Fitz clenches his jaw, shaking his head. “No. You’re wrong. Mum did _everything_ right! And I’m _not_ stupid. I’m _not_ a coward. I’m _not_ weak.”

He pauses, his chest heaving with short anxious breaths, when he feels the ground rumble again. He turns his head towards the open door, suddenly noticing the sounds of bullets flying and people screaming again. A little louder this time. A little closer. Suddenly the noises stop. He thinks he hears his name being called, his name in her voice. But he can’t tell if it’s in the vastness of the underground compound or just in the back of his own mind.

Slowly, Fitz turns back to face his father again, whose eyes seem to be growing duller with each weak breath he takes. Fitz isn’t sure _what_ suddenly shifts within himself, but he can feel it nonetheless. He’s surprised by how calm his own voice sounds when he speaks. “It’s _not_ a weakness, Dad. It takes strength.”

“What does?” his father asks in confusion. His voice is barely there. Weak. He’s holding onto life one breath at a time.

“I forgive you, Dad,” Fitz whispers, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he blinks away tears. “I forgive you.”

Somehow his own words surprise him.

Well. Not the words.

He’d meant to say them to spite his father, to _not_ give into the dying wishes of a man who had made his childhood a living hell, to _not_ give into the man who had walked out on them when he was still a child.

It’s not the words that surprise him.

It’s the impact they seem to have on himself.

They’re freeing.

Liberating.

He had spoken them and somehow it had allowed him to let go, let go of the fears, doubts and worries that had plagued him since his childhood.

“I forgive you,” Fitz repeats, his smile growing wider.

His father’s eyes widen in shock. Maybe in surprise. Fitz isn’t sure.

Then they flutter shut.

Fitz doesn’t need to feel for a pulse to know why the body in his arms has gone limp. He squints his eyes, feeling tears squeeze past his eyelashes and roll down his cheeks.

He flinches, his head instinctively shooting around, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

She has tears in her eyes, but she smiles. “There he is,” she whispers, before falling to her knees next to him.

A puff of air escapes Fitz’s lungs in sudden relief. He lets go of his father’s dead body, scooting around on his knees to be able to reach for the woman he loves instead, burying his head in the nook of her shoulder and letting his tears run freely.

Tears of joy. Tears of guilt. Tears of grief. Tears of pain.

* * *

Jemma wraps her arms around him as he collapses into her. Once he starts crying, it sets her off too, but she doesn’t care because he’s here.

He’s here.

 _Alive_.

She places a kiss to the top of his head.

“I missed you,” she whispers into his curls.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz sobs, moving his head so he can look at her. “I’m so sorry.” He wipes away her tears and gives an uneasy smile.

A pained smile flashes across Jemma’s face, as her hand reaches for his face, caressing it gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Fitz.”

He looks at her, his eyes wandering from her face down her body until they land on her leg. He notices her trousers stained with red. “Jemma,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay.”

He looks at her and his eyes bleed with pain. “No. No, it’s not.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and shifts his position, hooking one arm below her shoulders and the other below her knees to lift her into his arms.

He stumbles slightly when he stands up. Jemma knows that he must feel weakened himself, physically and mentally exhausted. He shouldn’t lift her. Shouldn’t carry her. But against her better judgement, she rests her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, allowing him to carry her.

It’s as if all the adrenaline she’d built up since the moment she’d realized that he’d been taken, the adrenaline that had given her the strength to keep going despite all the pain, is flushed out by finally being next to him again.

He’s alive and that’s all that matters.

He’s alive and she can rest, finally rest.

Jemma closes her eyes when Fitz starts moving. She hears the excited voices of their friends and fellow agents when they see him, but Jemma ignores them, pushes them into the background, only focusing on the most beautiful music playing softly against her eardrum.

_He’s alive._

_He’s here._

_We’re here._

_Together._

She keeps her eyes closed while Fitz carries her back to the Zephyr.

Taking both of them away from the hell they’d endured for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current plan: One more (short) chapter plus an epilogue. Stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and your continued support for our fix. It's been so much fun!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you again to @dilkirani for being our beta, we couldn't do it without you!

She’s asleep in the medbay back at the base. She had slept the entire flight back. If the whispered conversations between Elena and Daisy were anything to go by, she needed the rest.

They had given her a sedative at one point, when the nightmares had started, and it seems that it still hasn’t fully worn off yet.

“How is she?” a voice asks from the doorway. Slowly, Fitz lifts his head to look at Daisy.

She comes into the room and sits on the opposite side of the bed, looking down at Jemma, trying to hide the sadness in her eyes.

Fitz shrugs. “They don’t know. Not yet. It’s gonna take time; she’s gonna need physical therapy for sure. It’s a deep stab wound. Hit a nerve too. Doctors are annoyed, though. She put too much strain on it. Didn’t rest.”

Daisy scoffs. “Hey, her body rested while she was in the Framework, but once she was out there was no stopping her. She refused to listen to any of us.”

Fitz takes a breath, slowly moving his jaw side to side, dreading the question he wants to ask, has to ask. “What happened, Daisy? Who hurt her? The medical team—” He shakes his head, his voice breaking from the pain he feels inside, “—they won’t tell me.”

He looks up, trying to meet Daisy’s eyes, but she won’t meet his. Instead, her eyes are fixed on Jemma, whose eyelids twitch restlessly even though her body looks peaceful.

“Please,” Fitz pleads.

Daisy sighs. Slowly, she lifts her head and Fitz notices the curtain of tears before her eyes. Her mouth opens slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. She wets her lips, but the only thing escaping is a nervous puff of air.

Fitz blinks, his eyes wandering back to Jemma. His chin quivers as he draws in a shaky breath. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

“No!” Daisy’s voice cuts through the silence, and Fitz’s head shoots back in her direction at the sudden outburst. “That  _ thing _ wasn’t you!” Daisy almost growls through her teeth. “Do you hear me? That wasn’t you! And Jemma knew that it wasn’t you, or else she wouldn’t have—” She stops abruptly, her gaze falling to her lap.

“Wouldn’t have what?”

He bites his lip when she doesn’t reply. “Wouldn’t have what, Daisy?” he asks a little bit more loudly.

She looks up, exhaling sharply. “She killed it. Stabbed it.”

He closes his eyes, not trying to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek. Then he nods weakly. “Good. That’s good. She—” His voice breaks off. He’s not sure what to say anymore.

His head is filled with images. Faint memories from the real world. Faint memories from the Framework. And the nightmares he imagines the woman he loves and the one who’d become like a sister to him had endured because of what he’d helped create, what he’d become.

He shakes his head. “It’s all my fault.”

“Hey!” Daisy interjects. She gets up and brings her chair over to the other side, sitting down directly across from Fitz. She reaches for his forearm and he wants to flinch, wants to pull back, but her grip is stronger. “Shut the fuck up right there, okay?” She points at Jemma’s leg. “ _ That _ wasn’t your fault! What the LMDs did to her, to me, to this base,  _ wasn’t _ your fault! Those were  _ not _ the LMDs you built! Understood?”

“Bu—”

“No! No fucking but! You didn’t make AIDA replace people!  You didn’t make the LMDs attack the base, attack  _ us _ . You didn’t stab Jemma!   _ Not _ .  _ Your _ .  _ Fault _ !”

“The Framework—”

“Again. What  _ you _ created was a training tool that allowed me to beat the shit out of Coulson without actually breaking his bones! That fucked-up, Hydra-infested hellscape we experienced?  _ That _ wasn’t your doing! That was AIDA’s manipulation!”

“I was there.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“I  _ hit _ you! I  _ tortured _ you! I could have  _ killed  _ you!”

“That  _ wasn’t _ you.” She’s staring at him, her reassuring eyes digging into his soul so much it hurts.

“It was! It  _ bloody _ was and you know it!” he yells, pointing his finger at Daisy while getting up from his chair.

But Daisy doesn’t retaliate. She just sits there, letting him get his anger out.

Fitz places his trembling hands on his hips to steady them, his chest heaving and his breath coming out in ragged pants. His eyes wander aimlessly through the room, searching for a way out, a place to hide.

“It was me,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You were no more yourself in the Framework than I was when Hive infected me!” He can barely believe how calm her voice is. She should be angry. She should  _ hate _ him. She should yell and scream and hit him. She should  _ hurt _ him.

_ Do something _ , he screams at her in his head.

But the words won’t leave his mouth.

He lifts his hand, unable to stop it from shaking and gestures at himself. “I killed Agnes! An innocent woman. Unarmed!”

He feels the urge to run, to escape and takes a step forward, but Daisy jumps up from her seat, pressing her hand firmly against his chest. “And  _ I _ killed Malick! And maybe he wasn’t exactly innocent, but when I killed him, he was  _ completely _ defenseless! And I  _ killed _ him. I told him ‘I might  _ enjoy _ this’ and then I quaked him to death until his eyes bled!”

Fitz doesn’t answer but he remembers. He remembers how they found Malick’s body. How the explosion that followed buried Jemma and him under a pile of rubble.

He still feels Daisy’s hand on his chest, feels his own heartbeat below her palm, fast, frantic, scared.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he still wants to flee the room, flee the memories, flee his guilt, but she’s holding him back. He knows he could push past her, but somehow she’s still holding him back because part of him knows that he desperately needs to hear what she wants to say.

“Remember what I did to  _ you _ back then, Fitz?”

He drops his gaze, refusing to meet her eyes. He knows what she’s talking about, what she’s referring to, but he doesn’t want to answer.

Her hand is resting on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. He knows she’s trying to get him to look up but he can’t.

“I threw your body against a wall.” Her voice is much calmer now. “I used my powers to choke you. You couldn’t breathe. I almost killed you, Fitz. And I know when I came back, when I came out of it, maybe part of you was scared of me. And not just  _ you _ .  _ Everyone _ was scared of me. Nobody wanted to come at first, ‘cause you  _ all _ were scared and hurting because of what I had done. And yet, when you look at me now… do you still see the version of me that tried to kill you?”

He lifts his head slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a sad smile, just for a brief moment. He drops his head again, shaking it slightly. “‘Course not,” he replies, barely above a whisper.

“And when I look at you, I don’t see the person AIDA manipulated you to be, the person that hit me. Our stories aren’t so different, Fitz.” She shrugs. “Maybe we can help each other? I’d like that for sure. What do you say?”

The overwhelming emotions running through his body, his veins, every cell make his entire body tremble. He tries to reply and yet all he manages is a weak nod of his head.

She curls her hand around his neck and pulls his forehead against her shoulder. “And when Jemma looks at you, she won’t see your LMD either… just in case you’re worried about that.”

Somehow he manages to lift his hands high enough to wrap them around Daisy’s waist, to pull himself closer to the warmth she emanates. Her thumbs gently rub up and down his neck and the soothing gesture is enough to break Fitz’s dam.

He cries, his body shaking with sobs, and Daisy holds him, a little closer with each tear he sheds. Not once does she lose her gentle grip on his neck.

“It’ll be okay, Fitz,” she whispers against the top of his hair and it only makes him cry harder, as if he’s held back his tears for decades. “It’ll be okay. One day, it’ll be okay. And I’ll be here until that day. And beyond. We’ll  _ all _ be here. It’ll be okay.”

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, Daisy holding him as he cries.

It’s when he hears a soft, incoherent mumbling coming from Jemma’s direction that he removes his head from Daisy’s shoulder to look at Jemma.

She tries to lift her head from the pillow but fails, letting it drop back while her sleepy eyes come to rest first on Daisy, then on Fitz. “Daisy? Fitz?” she whispers, her lips barely strong enough to pull into a concerned smile. “Are you… are you okay?”

Despite everything, despite himself, he can’t help but laugh. Of course this would be the first thing Jemma asks. If  _ they _ were okay. Putting others above herself as usual.

He lets go of Daisy and walks over to Jemma’s bed, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently. He wipes away a few stray tears that still cling stubbornly to his cheeks. The corners of his mouth tick up into a smile, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay. Will be, anyways.”

He looks up at Daisy, who’s walked to the other side of Jemma’s bed, placing her hand on Jemma’s shoulders and winking at her mischievously. “Nothing a good cryfest and a few months of therapy can’t fix.”

Jemma furrows her brows, visibly confused. “Okay,” she mutters, shrugging weakly.

Fitz lets his thumb glide back and forth on the back of her hand. “I’ll tell you everything when you’re more awake. Promise!”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “I’d like that very much.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two chapters left in this, chapter 9 and the epilogue. Thanks so much for your continued support. It means so much to us and we love reading all your comments!


	9. Chapter 9

It has been barely two weeks since they’d returned from The Framework. Since they’d finally rescued Fitz. Since they’d returned to the base. Back home.

Now they’re taking another trip. Non-S.H.I.E.L.D.-related. Well, not entirely. But certainly more of a private matter.

The doctors still aren’t allowing her to put much weight on her leg, even though Jemma has enough medical knowledge to know they’re being overly cautious at this point. They still insist she use crutches. Most of the time she complies.

Today, she has decided against it. She needs her hands free. To be _his_ crutch. One of them anyways. He has several.

Not all of their friends had been able to come; some hadn’t wanted to, some couldn’t. Daisy had accompanied them. And of course, there was Brenda. She had come, not because she felt the need to say goodbye to her ex-husband, but because she’d been able to tell how much it meant to Fitz.

It had been drizzling continuously all day, the sky over Glasgow grey and misty. Somehow it had given Jemma a certain sense of satisfaction to know that his funeral wouldn’t be gilded by sunshine. He didn’t deserve sunshine. He deserved to be drowned in his own grave.

They’d stood in silence side-by-side while Daisy and Brenda did their best to cover themselves as well as Jemma and Fitz with two large umbrellas. The priest had held his standard, vague, non-descriptive eulogy. There wasn’t much else he could do, not knowing the man, not having been given much information. There wasn’t much information to give. They could have researched who Alistair Fitz had really been; rich it would seem, since Radcliffe had come to him for money. Maybe some people were even wondering where he was. But even now that his father was dead, Fitz had still refused to find out more about the man he’d tried to forget for twenty years and yet would never be able to. And yet, he’d asked for a proper burial for his father, had asked Jemma to come with him to Scotland, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid she’d refuse his request.

Gently, Daisy squeezes Jemma’s shoulder, gesturing with her head towards Brenda, who is standing to the side smiling shyly. Jemma nods in silence, but shakes her head when Daisy tries to hand her the umbrella. Somehow she _needs_ to feel the rain on her face, _needs_ to feel the clammy cold, because it makes her feel alive, real.

 _Maybe Fitz needs to feel it too_ , she thinks.

She watches as Daisy and Brenda slowly walk away from the grave towards the parking lot. The priest had left a while ago.

Fitz hadn’t noticed. None of it, it almost seems. He’s holding her hand, his thumb absentmindedly caressing her knuckles. His eyes are fixed on the grave. He’d been staring down at it since the moment the coffin had been lowered into it. It’s almost as if his mind had fallen into the grave as well, struggling now to climb back out. His cheeks had been wet from a continuous stream of tears. Silent tears. He’s not sobbing, but one tear after the other had found its way to the surface and down his face. Now that he’s no longer sheltered by his mother’s umbrella, they’re mixing with raindrops.

Jemma squeezes his hand gently, not wanting to startle him. “Fitz,” she exhales, as quietly as possible.

Hes blinks. Once. Twice.

Then he lifts his head and Jemma can tell how much physical and mental effort it takes him.

He looks at her, his eyes red, empty, dull.

“I don’t understand why I’m crying.” His voice is tired, hoarse almost. “My life was so much better after he left. I never once looked back. I never searched for him. Never wanted to. Why would I be sad to have lost him now?”

“Because that’s who you are, Fitz. You have a good heart. A forgiving heart. You have compassion. You’re nothing like the man your father wanted you to be.”

He sighs and his eyes wander back to the grave. “You think there’s nothing of him in me? Of my dad? Of The Doctor?” He sounds so insecure, so afraid of her answer.

She reaches for his chin, encouraging him to look back at her. Ever so slowly, he complies and a pained smile flashes across Jemma’s face. “Honestly, I’m quite sure there _is_ ,” she admits.

The sudden pain that seems to run through him is written in each of his features and Jemma wishes she could take it away, to make the burden that he’s carrying her own, but she can’t. In fact, _she_ is causing the pain with her words and she hates it; hates the fact that her words ache him so much, the most important person in her life.

“ _But_ , Fitz, we _all_ have The Doctor in us. We _all_ have a dark side. It doesn’t matter whether we have it or not, it matters if we _choose_ to let that side of us out! And that’s a choice I’ve _never_ seen you make, Fitz! _I’ve_ done it. I was _obsessed_ with wanting to kill Ward. So obsessed that I threw a splinter bomb at him when he had his back turned to me. I was quite literally willing to stab him in the back. And the only reason I didn’t succeed was because Bakshi stepped in the way. And quite frankly I don’t really feel remorse about _his_ death either. But you? You _tried_ to kill Ward, to decrease the oxygen in his cell, but you stopped yourself, because you are _not_ a killer. You are _not_ The Doctor.”

“What about Radcliffe’s LMD? I shot it in the bloody head.”

“Exactly. You shot **_it_** in the bloody head. It wasn’t a person.”

His head drops down to his chin. “Part of me wished it had been.”

She squeezes his hand a bit tighter to encourage him to look back at her, and slowly he lifts his gaze. “But you _knew_ it wasn’t,” she says quietly, smiling encouragingly at the sad, blue eyes looking back at her. “ _Yes_ , you have a temper sometimes.”

He turns his head away from her, but Jemma quickly reaches for his chin to guide his eyes back in her direction. “But _first_ of all, it takes a _lot_ to get you to lose it and secondly, you’ve never turned your anger against another _person_. You’ve broken glass and lab equipment maybe, but you’ve never lashed out at innocent people.”

“I’ve injured. I’ve _killed_.”

“In self-defense, Fitz.”

He looks away, back down at the coffin, at the raindrops bouncing off the smooth black varnish. Jemma feels her heart constrict but she knows he’s listening, taking in her words. And maybe, maybe he does want to look at her, but for the moment, taking in her words without meeting her eye is easier. Gently, she squeezes his hand, to at least let him know that she’s still there, will _always_ be there.

“Maybe there _is_ a bit of The Doctor in you, Fitz, a little bit of your father, but that doesn’t mean you’re _like_ them. _Far_ from it. So _incredibly_ far from it. Just think about it, Fitz. When I found you in that compound, you were cradling your father’s dying body and you told him that you’d forgive him. You’d been abducted. You had your mind manipulated, your feelings twisted. You’d been held prisoner in a virtual world. And yet one of the _first_ things you did after you managed to escape your captor was _forgive_ your father, a person who’d abused you verbally and physically, who left you and your mother when you were a child, who then abused you in yet another world, showing no remorse, none whatsoever. And you _forgave_ him! And now you’re standing over his grave, which only _exists_ because _you_ asked for a proper burial for him. And you’re _crying_ ; crying for him and for the man he could have been. _These things_ say more about who you are than _any_ of the things The Doctor did in the Framework. These things _prove_ that you are _nothing_ like The Doctor and _nothing_ like your father. I’ve said it before and I will say it until you believe me, Fitz: you are a _good_ man, with a _good_ heart. Loyal, kind, open, caring. Your father was _none_ of that!”

He nods in silence, his eyes still fixed on the rectangular hole in the ground.

“May I ask you something, Fitz?”

“‘Course,” he mumbles quietly, his foot absentmindedly kicking at the dirt in front of him.

“Whom did you bury here today? Whom are you trying to lay to rest? To rest in peace? It’s not just your father, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s… It’s Agnes. Radcliffe. Ward. Mace. AIDA. And… and… I don’t know… It’s… my _soul_.”

He looks up, finally looks up and back at her and shrugs, his eyes staring at her in confusion and agony. “Like whatever that means, but just… I want it to rest in peace, the part of my mind that keeps me up at night, for days, weeks, for… I wish I could just put it all to rest and move _forward_ , ‘cause I feel like I _have_ to, ‘cause if I dwell on it, if I dwell on my _guilt_ and my _fears_ and on everything that’s happened then—”

His voice breaks and he exhales a shaky breath. “It keeps dragging me back, Jemma, back to the past, back to the pain and I go through that same loop over and over again and I… I broke free from that. _You_ helped me break free from that loop and then… then I was dragged back into it _days_ later and I… I’m tired. I’m so tired, Jemma. Tired of being afraid. Tired of—”

She reaches for his cheek with her hand. “Fitz.” She pauses, waiting until he’s fully focused on her and able to listen. “Let’s put them to rest then. _All_ of them. _Both_ of us, those parts of us that are clinging to the past too hard, to our fears and our guilt. I... we... Let’s put them to rest and make room for a future, shall we?”

The corners of his mouth twitch briefly, as if his subconscious can’t help but want to smile. “A future?”

“Yes. A future together. A _lifetime_ together. ‘Cause… ‘cause—” She sighs, her lips pulling into a wide smile. “I want to get married.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Wha—?”

“I want to get married and spend my life with you and maybe… I mean… maybe one day, we could even… well… maybe… if that’s something we both want… we could… at some point—” _Start a family._ She can’t quite get herself to say the words aloud, afraid that she’s asking too much and overwhelming him, but the look on his face tells her she doesn’t have to. “If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

“Interes... Interes... I… I—” His mouth gapes halfway open as if his brain cannot process the information it’s given.

“Have you thought about it?” She _knows_ he’s thought about it. The LMD carrying his memories had told her, but she doesn’t bring that up. Not now anyway. Maybe one day in the future, once the wounds have started to heal and the scars have faded, she might tell him, but for the moment it is her secret, one that could stay with her until _she’s_ the one being buried.

If he’s suspicious over the question, he doesn't say anything.

“Yes. I… Yes, I just… I wasn’t sure. I was… part of me was—” he trails off and kicks the ground, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his shoe. A tomato red blush spreads across his face. It’s like the Fitz she met all those years ago, the pasty, handsome boy from Glasgow.

“Then put that part to rest right now, ‘cause… Fitz, I’ve _always_ thought we’d spend our lives together. I couldn’t imagine my life without you. But it used to be... Well, I thought we’d always be together as—”

“Friends,” he finishes her sentence, smiling shyly.

“Yes. And that hasn’t changed, to be quite frank, because no matter what, you’ll _always_ be my friend, Fitz, my _best_ friend, the person who knows me better than anyone else, but you’re also—” She chuckles. “—more than that.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Sounds familiar.”

Her cheeks are starting to hurt from being pulled back almost to her ears and despite the cold, clammy rain seeping through her coat, Jemma can feel a warmth filling her body, radiating from her heart into every cell. “Now, maybe it took me a while to realize that, but I’ve _certainly_ realized it now. I want to be your wife, Fitz, and I want _you_ to be my husband, no matter how old-fashioned that might seem. And if you want to be _really_ old-fashioned and romantic ‘cause I _know_ you consider yourself the more romantic of the two of us—” She rolls her eyes teasingly, and once again notices his cheeks blushing slightly. “—then go ahead and be the one to officially ask me, ‘cause I’ll scream my answer at the top of my lungs.”

He laughs out loud, blinking away tears at the same time. He exhales sharply and Jemma notices how tense his body still seems. “You’re really sure?” he asks quietly.

Jemma presses her lips into a thin line, trying in vain to suppress a grin. She shakes her head, before sighing deeply. Her hand once again reaches for his cheek, feeling his stubble against her palm. “Leopold James Fitz, will you ask me to marry you?”

A smile flashes across his face. His tongue glides over his lips as if he were mulling over her question. He lets a puff of air escape his rounded lips before reaching for her hand with both of his and dropping down on one knee.

Instinctively, Jemma’s free hand flies up to her mouth and she gasps. “Oh, Fitz, the ground is so muddy, you’ll ruin your—”

He chuckles briefly, letting his gaze drop to the ground before looking back at her. His eyes are sparkling and Jemma can’t remember the last time she’s seen him quite this happy.

“Shut up for a moment, will ‘ya?” he pleads, his mouth pulled into a one-sided grin.

Shyly, Jemma smiles and nods.

His thumbs caress the back of her hand, and his blue eyes are fixed on hers. “Jemma Anne Simmons, will you allow me to become your husband?”

“Yes.” Jemma yells, lifting her head towards the sky, as a joyful wave of laughter bubbles to the surface.

“No fucking way!” Daisy can be heard screaming, and both Jemma and Fitz turn their heads towards the parking lot where Daisy and Brenda are standing, staring back at them, their foreheads furrowed at first, but their eyes, fixed on Fitz kneeling in front of Jemma, quickly lighting up.

Fitz pushes himself back to standing, his hand still holding onto Jemma’s, and she mirrors the smile he’s sending in her direction.

Hand-in-hand they walk over to Daisy and Brenda. Brenda’s eyes are warm and glistening behind a thin curtain of happy tears. She pulls both into a loving hug, her head tucked in between Jemma’s and Fitz’s.

“Congratulations,” she whispers into their ears, and Jemma notices how the single, quietly spoken word brings tears to her own eyes.

When Brenda breaks her embrace, Jemma notices Daisy bouncing excitedly up and down next to them, impatiently waiting for her turn.

She lets out a little squeal, hugging first Jemma and then Fitz, before gently punching his shoulder. “Dude, kinda weird spot for a proposal, but honestly, I’m just glad you finally did it!”

Jemma chuckles, while Fitz grins one-sidedly, gesturing at Jemma with his head. “Was her idea!”

Daisy nods in understanding. “I see. Yeah. Sounds about right. Jemma Simmons is the boss.”

Jemma opens her mouth in protest, but Fitz is quicker to speak. “Wouldn’t wanna have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While we both have our own head canon's for Fitz's mum's name, we decided to go with Brenda since this is what AGL03 always calls her (and well, she prompted the fic, so she deserves as many little Easter eggs and gifts as possible ;) )
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this chapter. [Disclaimer: The weird juxtaposition of graveyard and proposal was my (aka stjarna's) idea. No idea what's wrong with me [Some of you may remember that I've done something similar before ;) ]
> 
> We can't quite believe it, but this fic is almost over. We're working on an epilogue and we're kinda sad to see our collaboration go (Maybe there'll be another one. It sure has been awesome.)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading our fic and for your lovely comments. Keep them coming. We thrive on them :)


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can't believe this is it. The epilogue is here. Our story will come to an end.
> 
> We've enjoyed our collaboration and we hope you enjoyed our fic. Your comments and positive feedback in the way of kudos have made us so happy along the way!
> 
> Thanks once again to @dilkirani for being an amazing beta and to @agl03 for giving stjarna the prompt in the first place.

It had been about four months since Fitz had escaped the Framework and destroyed AIDA. Since his unexpected, shocking, and yet surprisingly freeing encounter with his father. Since he’d found out that Radcliffe had died as well, killed by his own invention. Since he had buried his father. Since Jemma had proposed to him by his father’s grave.

Fitz wished he could say that these months had been easy, that it had been easy to let go, to accept that The Doctor hadn’t been him. But it hadn’t been easy. It still wasn’t easy. And Fitz tended to think that it wasn’t supposed to be.

At times, he thought he couldn’t do it at all. But, little-by-little, with the help of his friends, his family, and a stubborn therapist who wouldn’t take no for an answer, Fitz had somehow managed and had improved.

Coulson had hired several therapists for the team and slowly everyone was opening up in the group sessions Coulson insisted on and presumably in the individual sessions as well. At least Fitz was, and Jemma had been honest enough to tell him about her progress as well.

It was somehow comforting to know that the nightmares had plagued not just him.

Everyone was still affected by what had happened inside and outside the Framework.

Everyone had their nightmares, their demons to fight.

May. Coulson. Mack.

Daisy.

Jemma.

But they were working through everything together. As a team.

They talked about everything in these group sessions, not just about what had happened in the Framework, but about everything: every little worry that had been on their minds, for days, weeks, years even.

It took time. Everyone opened up at their own speed. It was a slow and often painful recovery, but they _were_ healing.

Jemma and Daisy weren't just healing emotionally but also physically.

Jemma’s leg had taken longer to heal than she’d hoped for, especially with the nerve damage that limited some of her right foot’s flexibility and mobility. Often, she got impatient with her progress.

Fitz tried to remind her how she’d told him to be patient when he was recovering from his brain injury, when he had struggled because his left hand wasn’t doing the things he wanted it to. She rolled her eyes at him.

_First of all, you barely listened to me back then! And second of all, stop beating me with my own arguments, Leopold Fitz! It’s getting annoying_ , she’d pretend to protest, scrunching her nose in that adorable way of hers, unable to hide a smile.

_Not my fault that you’re always right_ , he’d reply, whilst giving her a sly smile to which she always rolled her eyes.

He went with her to every physical therapy session, refusing to leave her side.

She had set herself a goal when she first started: to be able to walk, unaided, down the aisle.

Of course she’d achieved that goal weeks before their actual wedding. Fitz had never doubted it.

Their wedding. The memory still made Fitz smile. Would always make him smile, quite frankly.

It had been a perfect sunny day at her parents’ home outside of Sheffield, not even two months after Jemma had proposed.

To an outsider, it might have seemed rushed, but their friends, their families, their colleagues knew better. They knew how long their story, their happy end had been in the works. How long it had taken them. How many ups and downs. How many misunderstandings. How many separations, wanted and unwanted. How often the cosmos had tried to rip them apart. How many hours, days, weeks, _years_ it had been.

It wasn’t rushed. It was anything but. They had waited long enough. They weren’t willing to waste any more time.

And Doctor Doctor ‘ _I excel at preparation_ ’ Jemma Simmons had been determined and more than able to put together a small but perfectly executed ceremony and reception in such a short amount of time… particularly with the help of a more than enthusiastic maid-of-honor, who, had it been up to her, would also have taken on the roles of best (wo)man, officiant, flower girl, and ring bearer.

Jemma had leaned into her father, Rupert, but only those familiar with her leg injury and its lingering aftereffects were able to notice the hint of a limp. She certainly hadn’t needed her crutches anymore.

Fitz couldn’t help the tears that had streamed down his face when he saw her, wearing a beautiful dress of lace. Beautiful? It wasn’t even an adequate word to describe her.

She was radiant. Truly magnificent.

The smile that graced her face that day didn’t fade once.

Their team and their families seemed to enjoy the wedding. There weren’t many guests present, but that didn’t matter to them. Everyone whom they’d hoped to see was there.

In fact, when they turned around at the end of the ceremony to walk back down the aisle, both Fitz and Jemma could have sworn they saw two familiar faces, hidden at the back behind one of the large trees in Jemma’s parents’ yard. Two faces they thought they would never see again.

But when the newlyweds had tried to find them later, they were nowhere to be found. The only things left between the roots of the tree were a bottle of champagne and a congratulations card signed “B & H”. They’d smiled at each other, taking their unexpected gift back to the tent that had been set up for the reception.

Coulson grinned knowingly when he saw the bottle, and the married couple couldn’t shake the feeling that he had a little something to do with their two surprise guests.

It was a simple reception. His mum had done most of the cooking with Margaret's help. They played music from Daisy’s laptop, who’d declared herself DJ and MC of the wedding. Fitz had never loved dancing, nor did he consider himself particularly good at it, but the dances he shared that night with his wife, his mum, and a very persistent Daisy were something he’d never want to forget. And while Daisy was dancing with Eliza, Jemma’s niece who had been flower girl, even Coulson and May had suddenly stepped onto the dance floor and Jemma had nudged Fitz, raising her eyebrows suggestively at the way their superiors glanced at each other. That was pretty unforgettable, too, for different reasons.

It was plain and simple: there were a billion reasons why Fitz would never forget his wedding day, none of them bad.

The next morning, May had taken them directly to the private airfield that was just a half an hour drive from Jemma’s parents’ home. One of the quinjets was waiting there for them, and May flew them straight to their honeymoon location: The Seychelles.

_It’s about time_ , Jemma had said when they had been discussing possible locations. _I suggested we go there a year ago._

Fitz hadn’t had any reason to object. He would have gone to the North Pole with her, if she’d wanted to. Anywhere but the Playground.

A long awaited holiday that they both needed after all they had suffered.

The three weeks they spent in the Seychelles had been amazing, finally being able to relax in the sun and for once put themselves first and leave the safety of the world in their friends’ capable hands.

Fitz even agreed to go snorkeling.

_Seriously, Jemma, I’m not sure anyone but you would choose a beach that requires a one hour hike to get to!_ Fitz had complained as they’d walked through the blazing sun to the Anse Major beach on Mahé.

_Well, it wouldn’t be recommended as one of the prime snorkeling locations on Mahé if **I** were the only person crazy enough to go there_ , Jemma had replied as she’d marched on towards the beach.

_You said crazy, not me_ , Fitz had added teasingly, a bit more quietly (but loud enough for Jemma to hear, turn her head and scrunch her nose in pretend protest). Fitz couldn’t help but allow the corner of his mouth to pull into a one-sided grin.

In the end, he had to admit though that the beach and the coral seabeds were breathtaking and well worth the effort of getting there.

It took some coaxing to actually get Fitz into the water. After all, he’d almost drowned a few years back, so the prospect of voluntarily diving below the sea level, no matter how shallow, was still a tad anxiety inducing. But it was hard to resist his wife’s enthusiasm.

So he agreed and despite his thumping heartbeat, it was a truly extraordinary experience.

Jemma made sure to reward him for his bravery, when she caught up to him as they were snorkeling back to the beach. Even with the diving gear in her mouth, he could see her smile. She removed her mouthpiece, then his, pulling him into an underwater kiss that took his breath away in the best way possible.

But even though their honeymoon had been undeniably relaxing, once they returned to the Playground, the couple still found themselves reluctant to return to work.

Fitz could barely stand being in the lab, his hands trembling every time he picked up an engineering project, his mind racing with every possible scenario of how the device in his hands could be used for bad rather than good.

Jemma reassured him. Coulson did. His therapist did. Even Mack, who had had the hardest time returning from the Framework and who’d planted the first seed of doubt in Fitz’s mind even before they’d all been held captive in a virtual world.

But somehow it still wasn’t enough to ease Fitz’s mind. Not yet anyways.

And Jemma seemed to struggle just as much. Maybe for different reasons. Maybe for the same. Maybe because _he_ was struggling.

Even moving from base to the apartment Daisy had bought for them didn’t seem to help in bringing some long-needed distance between themselves and work.

They both agreed that it wasn’t time yet to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. behind for good, but, nonetheless, whenever their dreams for the future came up in conversation, snuggled together on the couch, in bed, in their breakfast nook, it always came back to one thing: Perthshire.

_A place where we could have…_

_A place where we will!_

They felt a restless desire to take one more step towards the future they envisioned for themselves.

They weren’t ready to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. Not yet anyways. But Perthshire was on the horizon and the urge to get the ball rolling was too strong to ignore.

So they took more time off, heading to Scotland to look for their little dream cottage.

They fell in love with a small cottage overlooking Loch Tay, a transformed water mill, ready to move in, with a secluded garden, plenty of bedrooms and plenty of potential. It even fell within their budget and they’d put an offer in right away.

Jemma started squealing when the realtor told them that the owners had accepted and the bank had approved their loan application.

_Maybe the cosmos is finally trying to make up for everything it’s put us through_ , Fitz had joked.

_Guess the bloody cosmos wants something after all_ , Jemma had replied teasingly.  

They had spent the past number of days working on renovating their Scottage, as Daisy had started calling it, getting it ready for when they were going to move in full time a few years down the line. For now, the plan was to use it as a getaway at least once a year for a few weeks.

* * *

Fitz gets up, wiping off the soot that’s clinging to his palms after having inspected the safety of their fireplace. He grabs the wet towel Jemma is handing him to fully clean his hands and lets his eyes wander over the little cozy corner in their living room.

He frowns, looking at the bare mantle. “You think we can put something up there?”

His wife smiles, bending down to lift a picture frame from the box in front of her. She holds it up so that both of them can look at it.

Fitz lets the towel drop to the floor, taking the frame from Jemma’s hand instead. He stares down at the image, feeling Jemma rest her head on his shoulder.

He’ll never forget that day.

His wedding day.

They’re standing on a trail at her parent’s estate, a tall hedge on one side, a field of simple white flowers on the other, Jemma wearing her dress of lace and Fitz in his tux and kilt.

It had been a late summer day, and the sun had shone through the trees to cast an ethereal glow around Jemma.

“Fitz?” Jemma asks, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“Mmm?”

“I'm glad we did this.”

He looks down at her and sees the smile on her face, the twinkle in her eyes.

His lips pull into a one-sided grin. “Yeah. So am I.”

He wrinkles his forehead, looking down at the photograph in his hands. “You think it should go _here_ right away or in our Love Nest back in the States? I mean, we’ll only be here a few weeks per year for now.”

“The Love Nest? I thought you weren’t gonna call it that?” she asks, teasingly, batting her eyelashes at him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, well, Daisy’s used it too many times. Now I can’t get it out of my head. The woman’s insufferable.” He shakes his head.

“Yes, she is and that’s why we love her.” Jemma beams up at him and he can’t deny what she says.

Because he can’t deny the truth. They both love Daisy. She’s family after all.

Fitz lifts the frame in his hands a little higher, looking over its edge at the mantle in front of them. “So, here or the Love Nest?” he repeats.

“Put it up here. I made two copies of each photograph anyways.” There’s a proud undertone to her voice and he feels his heart swell.

She seems so happy and there’s just something about her when she’s like that. He wishes she could be like that forever; always joyful and finding happiness in everything.

“Of course you did. I should have expected it,” he remarks, reaching forward to place the photograph on the mantle above the fireplace.

“Yes, you should have.” She grins cheekily at him and Fitz can’t help but chuckle.

He curls his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling her lean back into him. He presses a kiss to her forehead, his eyes wandering back to the picture.

A picture that represents happiness and joy and the promise of a happily ever after.

Something he thought he would never get.

And yet, here he is.

With the woman he loves; his best friend.

Someone he trusts with his life.

Someone who trusts her life with him.

He stares back at the picture.

_Maybe everyone is right._

_I'm not the Doctor_.

_I’m not my father_.

_I’m Leopold James Fitz._

_Loving. Caring. Loyal. Good._

_Husband first._

_Agent second._

He pulls Jemma a little closer, inhaling a deep breath as his lips pull into a peaceful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a bit of an extra surprise present that goes with this fic (courtesy of stjarna's husband) .... [CLICK HERE](https://the-nerdy-stjarna.tumblr.com/post/160351231844/hell-never-forget-that-day-his-wedding-day).
> 
> stjarna would like to mention that this epilogue has been posted not only on her birthday but also on her one-year anniversary on AO3! What a wonderful present to herself.
> 
> Agentsofsuperwholocked: I just wanna say a massive thanks guys. We could never have done this without your help. We had so much fun writing this (with some of my earlier work on it being done in a Polish McDonalds). We're so grateful for all your support. You guys are awesome!!! :)


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